Musings of a Monster
by Tela
Summary: Every shriek and cry and groan of pain I caused, gave me pleasure. I was addicted to something everyone tried to stay away from. I was what they called a monster.
1. Musings of a Monster

I like villains and I like the magic class. Put them together and you get a wizard called Casimir. Enjoy.

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**Musings of a Monster**

What makes us human? What really makes us the things we are? Why is it so difficult to explain what makes us human? I tried once. Not a single word formed. When I wonder what makes a monster, the words flow freely. Can anyone tell me why it's so easy to describe? Shouldn't it be the other way around? We have a choice, when we gain awareness, of being human and being a monster. Sometimes, we are told what to be and the answer is always the same. We are human.

For so long I felt nothing. A child that feels no joy in anything is no child at all. I looked on at the other children, wondering what it was they found so…amusing. I never joined in their games or stupid conversations. I was above them. I was better than them. Yet, I felt nothing and they felt everything. Mother worried that something was wrong with me. Father said I was merely a quiet, shy child. They were both wrong. Nothing was wrong, nor was I quiet or shy. My instructors said I was a brilliant boy and would grow into myself so my parents stopped worrying. I was perfectly fine so I watched the other children play and continued to feel nothing. I simply appeared to be an antisocial eight year old.

I never cried. Not once. If a bully came up to me and threw idiotic insults and curses at me, I threw them right back, but so much worse. I always had a way with words. The bully was the one to cry and run off. On that day, after the other boy had run off sobbing, I felt the strangest thing…a light feeling in my chest and the upward curve of my lips. I had smiled and I was feeling a tinge of joy. To be human is to feel happiness, among other things, isn't it? This was what I was always told. I walked home that day with a smile and it shocked my mother. I told her what happened and she assumed I was happy because I had stood up to the boy. She was right, wasn't she? Not quite.

Two days later, the boy returned but he had two friends with him. This boy and his friends were a couple years older than I was but his intelligence was certainly lacking. The three of them were swordsmen in training as I was a mage. Surely no match for them, right? The boy I had insulted soon hurled a fist toward my face. How interesting, I thought as I watched his fist connect.

He hit his target and I only took a step back, analyzing the pain shooting through my jaw. I tasted the coppery flavor of a bloody lip and raised my hand to inspect the already swollen flesh. I pulled my fingers away to see a scarlet smear. I grinned once more. This time, it was because of the pain. I liked it. I wanted him to hit me again so I let an insult fly. This time, all three lunged and tackled me to the ground. This was day that I discovered my irresistible liking for physical pain. The more they hurt me, the more I grinned and laughed.

Slowly they stopped, staring at me with disturbed expressions. These boys couldn't figure out why I was laughing hysterically and carrying on as if they had been tickling me. I was bruised, had a bloody lip and nose and two lovely black eyes. How _good_ it felt. I sat up, still smiling broadly and asked them to keep going. I must have scared them because they backed away and fled. I had never felt as good as I did. Pain made me happy and it made me feel alive. I had never _felt_ anything until then. Who knew pain would awaken my feeling?

I walked home again, this time frightening my mother. She wanted me to tell her who fought me but I refused. She also wanted to know why I was smiling and not crying. I said nothing. I knew she thought it strange but for some reason, I wanted to keep her in the dark. I _wanted_ her to worry. It was another small joy for me. My father just watched with indifferent eyes. He waved it off as a typical boyhood scuffle. Very little concerned that man.

From that day on, things began to change. I picked fights and let the others beat me. Six years go by and I earned myself a strange reputation indeed. I was often called weak, worthless and strange. I was constantly in fights and there was never a day that went by where I _didn't_ have a bruise of some sort. I was no small boy by any means and I even had a few muscles to boot. My father had insisted that I get into shape and win once in a while. How trite, but I did as he asked. My mother worried more and my father insisted she was worrying over nothing. Another two years went by. Very soon, I discovered something else.

I was in a particularly nasty mood one afternoon and went to look for a fight. I had little trouble finding one. The local bullies were always my favorite to coerce. This time, I ran into my old nemesis. I rather enjoyed his particular beatings. He was so rough and merciless. This time, though, he wasn't doing things the way I wanted him to and it made me unhappy. It made me feel that detestable feeling of nothing again. I _needed_ the pain. For some reason, he acted as if he was tired of the fight. All at once, my patience snapped. I balled my fist and landed a punch sharply in his jaw.

Something snapped. I froze.

My dear bully froze as well. There was no doubt that I broke his jaw. The crack of bone…I wanted to hear it again. He stared at me with wide, dare I say, frightened eyes. He lifted a hand and felt his jaw hanging slack, his eyes misting. I couldn't help myself. I launched myself at him and swung behind him, pulling his arms with me. He wasn't fighting back. Interesting. I saw his head hanging, his chest heaving. I lifted my leg and planted my foot against his back and pulled his arms and until I felt them beginning to give. He emitted strangled whimpers and then a screech of agony as his shoulder joints gave way. The sickening pop was musical to me.

I let him fall to the street, sobbing. His arms were utterly useless and his jaw was cracked and dislocated. I never knew that being the _cause_ of pain would be better than receiving it. It filled me with indescribable glee. I was nearly trembling with excitement. I stood for a moment, reveling in the consequence of my actions. Unfortunately, someone would surely try to put a stop to my fun if they knew what had happened here. I was no fool, even for being sixteen. I knelt next to my beloved bully and whispered a few simple words.

"Tell anyone and I'll make it a hundred times worse next time." He shrunk back from me fearfully, much to my satisfaction. Perhaps it was time to make a new reputation for myself and I did. One year later, I was the one they called a bully. Every shriek and cry and groan of pain I caused, gave me pleasure. I was addicted to something everyone tried to stay away from. I never touched a girl, though. I was always told it was wrong but then…why should they receive special treatment? There was a girl, not the first, certainly not the last, that was intrigued by me. Most of them, unfortunately, were afraid of me.

I can't recall her name, but she was pretty. She was two years older than I was and she said she had watched me from afar. She admitted that she was afraid of me but not enough to keep her away. She was a fellow wizard; I had become one myself a year and a half ago. She followed me one night, she made sure I knew she was there. I didn't acknowledge her but I let her follow. I was autumn then and the Prontera air was chilly enough to see one's breath. I had turned down an empty street and of course, she followed.

Finally, I came to a halt and turned to face her. Waves of silky black hair came just below her shoulders. She held her tan cloak close to her, trying to block out the cold. I motioned for her to come to me and she did. What a good girl. Very obedient. Too bad for her that I was in need of some enjoyment. I could at least get more than one type of use from her. She approached and said my name in a breathy voice that carried a double meaning. I grasped her arms firmly and pressed her against the brick wall of a building. She smiled, oddly enough. Interesting girl.

She whispered something but I was far too wrapped up in my thoughts to hear her properly for a moment. She said it again and I heard that time. She wanted me. It was her lucky night, it seemed. I pressed my lips to hers roughly as my hands flung open her cloak. She let out a hiss as the cold air hit her skin. Typical wizard uniform, shorter than most, though. I have an appreciation for the female body and I choose to let them know it. My fingers nimbly found the zipper on her front. Suddenly she squeaked and pulled her face away from mine.

I had bitten her lip harder than I thought since she was bleeding. She began to say something but I silenced her with another kiss. I could taste the metallic flavor of her blood and continued my ministrations. Her body was as pretty as her face it appeared. She gasped at both the cold and my fingers brushing over her breasts. She moaned my name and I snapped. I was never in control of myself in these moments. I needed to see blood or hear bones break. I pinned her arms above her against the brick wall, sliding them slowly across the rough surface.

She then realized something was wrong. I was hurting her more than she thought I would. The bricks caught on her lovely pale skin and made her arms bleed. She began to struggle and almost succeeded in wrenching herself away from me. I grabbed her and pulled her back toward the wall. Sadly, she was a clumsy little thing when she panicked. She tripped and fell against the wall, hitting her head first and slumping down to the street. I smiled. I had heard her skull crack against the brick. Such a wonderful sound.

I gazed at her limp form sprawled on the street. Blood pooled around her midnight hair and her chest remained exposed. I felt mild disappointment that I had hurt her too quickly. She was alive for the moment but would soon bleed to death. She was the first one I killed. It was exhilarating. It topped that of hurting people. I had found a new joy. With one last look, I stepped over her body and walked away through the empty street.

Most recently, there was the church in Prontera, many years and many deaths later. I had come to know that I had been blessed by Loki with his chaotic magic. Fire had fascinated me particularly. I also had to prove my loyalty to the great god of chaos. I knew exactly what I had to do. I entered the church in the evening and walked to the chapel. I stared at the little figurine of Odin standing on the altar, hating it more with each passing moment. Suddenly there was a scream and then another. The priests were alarmed until they were screaming for the same reason.

I turned to see the frenzied scene behind me with a smirk. I had set them each on fire. Howls of agony filled the air as priests and acolytes alike frantically tried to douse the flames. No use, silly children of God. They knew it was I that had done this to them and they cursed me through their cries. I watched until the last had fallen into a heap of ash and embers.

So what makes us human? I could never tell you the answer. I'm not human. I am truly a magnificent monster. Please, give me pain and I'll return the favor tenfold.

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**A/N**: Casimir is from my story Gotterdammerung. He's one sick puppy. Anyway, I think the rating is okay. I think o.O; I s'pose I can change it if need be. 


	2. Shait the Watcher

The story of Delilah the matyr, Casimir's pet. Hey look! Cas CAN be civil when he wants to be!

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**Shait the Watcher**

"Remind me again why I'm in the bottom of a dusty old pyramid, Dakin?" Casimir asked the sage walking just ahead of him. Dakin was the closest thing Casimir had to a friend which simply meant he hadn't felt a desire to kill the younger man yet. The sage was rather tolerable most of the time and usually useful for finding information. He didn't talk too much and the things he said were said for a reason. Dakin stopped and turned, holding up a tattered old book as a reminder.

"I know you didn't forget already. There's a particular object I'm looking for and I need you to kill things that might be guarding the place we're going. Besides, Casimir, you owe me."

"Shut up."

The black haired sage chuckled and continued walking. Best not to get on the wizard's bad side. He knew all too well the consequences of that. He wasn't exactly deterred by Casimir's habits and found the man rather interesting. Most people didn't live long enough to see that side of him. Yes, his friend did have serious mental problems but hey, he wasn't all bad.

A few minutes later they reached a heavy stone door. "This has to be it. The burial chamber should be behind this door." He began searching the walls for some way to open it.

Casimir simply rolled his eyes and summoned an earth spike with an upward sweep of his hand, effectively shattering the door. Dakin gave a rather unmanly cry and raised his arms to block the flying debris from his head. "You _could_ be a little more careful," he sighed as he stepped over the rubble. The high wizard just glared at him and followed behind. He summoned a fireball to light the dark, musty tomb. They strode over to the sarcophagus and Dakin began reading the ancient lettering on the lid. A few moments later, he nodded. "This is the right one. The pharaoh Imset lies here."

"So?"

"Imset had a lot of scandals surrounding his death. Later, when he was being put in here, they found out that the rumors were true," the sage explained. Casimir was mildly interested in the story. He did, after all, like history quite a bit. Morrocan history was one that he didn't know much of.

"Tell me the story then."

Dakin shrugged and began the tale.

"I don't know about the dates because they were lost over time. Pharaoh Ismet was the ruler of Morroc at the time. He was married to Nephet, a princess from a nearby kingdom that doesn't exist anymore. She was supposedly very beautiful with dark skin, slender and graceful. The perfect queen everyone said. Ismet had grown ill with something that didn't have a cure in those days and soon, he was completely bed ridden. His wife visited maybe once a week to see if he had died yet but he lingered day after day."

"_He is not dead?"_

"_No, queen Nephet, he lives," the healer answered. He knew that she waited for her husband's death so she could marry his cousin that was next in line for the throne, since Ismet had no children. He bowed and left her alone with the dying king. _

_Nephet marched over to the bed and scowled at Ismet's sleeping form. Once she was married to Ramey, she could poison him and take the throne. As luck would have it, her husband grew sick without her interference. _"_Death awaits you. Why won't you die?" She knew she wouldn't receive an answer so she walked out of the room, sinking into a foul mood. _

_A short time later, another figure slipped in and kneeled next to the pharaoh's bedside. She too was lovely but paled in comparison to her queen. Sleek black hair fell loosely down her back, framing a serene set of hazel eyes, all set against a sun bronzed skin. She laid a hand on Ismet's chest, feeling the shallow rise and fall. It would not be long until his time came. She nearly jumped as his hand moved and covered hers. "Shait…"_

"_Yes, Pharaoh?" she answered, bowing her head._

"_You know…what my wife is…planning, yes?" She nodded. Anyone could see it if they looked past the Queen's false mourning. "You cannot let…it happen. You are also aware that she…cannot be sealed within my tomb…alongside me. She is not…of this land," he explained with great effort. He had to take breaths often in order to finish his thoughts. He had to make Shait agree to his terms. He knew she was more loyal than anyone in his court was, but would she follow him into the afterlife?_

_He had gradually gained her trust and love during his sickness, though he did _not_ love her. Without his wife and no children to accompany him to the afterlife, he had no one to serve him. This was where he planned to use Shait. This woman was not royalty, so she could not be buried with him, but there was another way. He reached up weakly and put a hand on her cheek. She was extremely intelligent priestess but so naïve. "Come closer." She leaned over with the guide of his hand until her face was inches from his. _

"_How can I serve you?" she whispered. He drew her in, lips joining hers for a frail kiss. Surely this would seal their fate._

"_Will you serve me in the afterlife…?" he murmured against her lips. There was a moment of silence before she nodded in agreement._

"_I will."_

"_Put an end…to my wife…priestess Shait. She deserves…_nothing_."_

_She stood and bowed respectfully before backing out of the room. She hurried to Nephet's chamber after acquiring a weapon to complete the pharaoh's request. Night had fallen over Morroc and the only sounds were that of locusts in the garden. She crept into the room and stood over the sleeping queen dagger in hand. _

_"May the Gods have pity," she hissed as she slashed Nephet's throat in one swift movement. __The queen opened her eyes and tried to gasp. It sounded more like a wheezing gurgle. After a minute of struggle, Nephet lay back against her pillow, dead. Bright red stained the pristine white linens around her, framing the dark face of the once beautiful queen._

_She stood there, shaking slightly at what she just done. Nephet had it coming to her, she reasoned with herself. She placed the dagger in Nephet's hands and folded her arms in a way appropriate for burial. She made her way back to Ismet's room and kneeled next to his bed once again. "I have done as you asked." She laid her head on the bed, still in slight disbelief at what she had done. _

"_Good…" was all Ismet said before he too faded into death._

_Then, she noticed a large shadow looming over her. "You wish to become the Pharaoh's eternal servant?" a deep voice rumbled above her. She looked up and saw nothing but shadow._

"_Yes." _

"_It is done." Then, the shadow and voice were gone and her body was wracked with immense pain. Her limbs felt disconnected and crushed. She collapsed to the floor, letting out an animalistic, blood-curdling howl. She couldn't think clearly, nor could she remain conscious of what was happening to her._

"Apparently some god changed her into a matyr and she guards the tomb to this very day," Dakin remarked as he finished the story. He hoped they didn't run into her if she did exist. "They later found out that Nephet didn't kill herself but they also never saw Shait again. She became known as Shait the Watcher because everyone that entered this pyramid after the door to the tomb was sealed has died," he added.

Casimir nodded and inspected the undisturbed tomb. All he saw was dust, sand and valuable artifacts. The painting on the walls were well preserved but it meant nothing to him. Dakin was the one that could actually read it, not him. "A shame that she didn't realize he was lying to her all along. She should have killed him along with the queen and left. Naïve little priestess, you should've paid more attention."

"Why, Casimir, that almost sounded like you feel sorry for her. How thoughtful of you. Although, not every situation has to be solved with someone's death." Dakin grinned as he searched the artifacts around them for a particular gem. He really had no interest in all of the other valuables. Money was something he never really needed.

"It's simpler that way. If you kill the problem, it ceases to exist, right? Problem solved."

"True…but you have a seriously warped sense of problem solving. I'm not sure who to bla--ahh!" the sage yelped as a matyr suddenly appeared before him. It stared at the man with blood red eyes. Casimir had not moved, but watched as the matyr ambled toward him, its body turning into a dark mist as it came closer. Then, it stopped and materialized into a much larger form. The form of a woman.

"What do _you_ want?" the high wizard asked in a bland tone. Obviously, she had a problem with him but he could care less. The ghostly figure considered his question for a moment and sighed.

"What he says is true?" she asked, pointing to the sage. "Ismet lied to me?"

"It's true. He confided in the healer before death. Are you...Shait?" Dakin probed curiously. He hated ghosts more than anything and he especially didn't like things jumping out at him. The priestess nodded solemnly and Casimir just laughed. This caused her to turn back to the high wizard with a questioning look.

"He _used_ you, priestess. You were too blind by his so called "love" that you completely missed it."

"Look, Cas, maybe you shouldn't provoke her. You don't know what she's capable of," the sage pleaded. He wasn't about to be killed by some ghost guardian because of Casimir's mistake. He could probably kill her if need be. The only people that had come here before them were petty thieves. He and Casimir were no novices, especially the high wizard. He was dangerous to even be around though. He didn't care if you were caught in the crossfire between him and his target.

"Shut up, Dakin."

"No, you need stop. Don't cause trouble," the sage replied angrily. "All you ever do is cause trou--" He was silenced, suddenly, and pushed against the tomb wall. Blood trickled from his mouth down his chin as he looked down at his midsection in horror. A shard of ice, more than six inches around had impaled him and pinned him to the wall. "You...bastard!" he gasped.

"You should listen. You know me well enough to know what happens when people tell me what to do. I had no intention of killing you until this moment." He turned a steely gaze back to the priestess and crossed his arms, ignoring the strained, weakening curses of Dakin. "What do you want?" he asked again.

"To leave this place. I want Ismet's tomb looted by common thieves and I want his body destroyed. I am his servant no longer," she growled. Until she heard the sage retell her story and truth, she had felt nothing but love and devotion for her pharaoh. She gave up her own life to watch his tomb for eternity and for what? Lies! He toyed with her as if her life meant nothing.

Casimir watched with an amused expression as Shait flew into a rage and began to wreak havoc upon the king's sarcophagus. She tore the lid off with a rather amazing strength and set to work, tearing the mummified body to pieces. She muttered curses in a language he did not understand but her meaning was clear. He waited while until she was done with her destruction before saying anything. He glanced at the limp body of Dakin, seeing that the sage had finally died when he noticed it had gone quiet in the tomb.

Once calm, she stood in front of the wizard, her eyes blazing with a jaded and furious gleam. "I need a purpose. I refuse to stay here."

The wizard considered her words. "Serve _me_ then." Having a companion might be useful to him. She didn't even require much care since she was dead anyway. Besides, there was something about her that he liked. This was something that didn't happen all that often.

"So long as you will not feed me lies." This was her only term. She would not be led astray for anyone's selfish wants.

"I have no reasons to lie, priestess."

"I have one request," she stated. Casimir gestured for her to continue. "Give me a name. I cannot be Shait the Watcher anymore." He laughed but understood. He thought for a moment and came up a relatively random name. He liked the sound of it though.

"Delilah?"

"Delilah it is, Master."

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A/N: The rest is history :3 


	3. Truth Hurts

**Truth Hurts**

She had grown up and changed. He remained the same as ever.

She used to look at him with vivid blue eyes, eyes that were full of spirit and determination. Now, those eyes were dull and filled with disdain and anger. She was no longer the innocent little girl he adored. Her fire was gone.

Casimir's footsteps echoed as he walked down the ancient stone hallways of the Juno cathedral. The building just beyond the edge of the city had been long forgotten with time. The city in the sky was more caring for its libraries and magic academies.

Though he loved magic, he harbored a special adoration for this ancient structure. He loved the building's history and the very stones of it's foundation. It was quiet and it was grand. It would remain as such until it crumbled into nothingness.

He saw her, then, sitting at a desk in a small room to the left. Her mane of braided red hair instantly gave her away. "To what do I owe this most unexpected visit?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe. The priestess, whose back was turned to him, heaved a sigh and set down the book she was reading.

"I didn't know _you_ came to this place." Casimir did not fail to note the unusual coldness in her voice. He could only wonder what was bothering her to speak to him with such a tone.

"Have I done something to offend you, dearest Heather? Perhaps it was someone else?"

She remained silent for a drawn out moment. The anger slowly building within her was almost too much to contain. She didn't want to end up like her brother though. His sudden burst of rage against Dahlmiel all those years ago kept her own temper in check. She didn't want to end up like that.

Curiously, the wizard took slow strides into the bare room. He stopped at her side and reached out, his fingers gently touching her chin and guiding her gaze up to his. "Tell me what's bothering you."

"I was asked to leave the church. Permanently," she snapped.

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that. Did they say why?"

She moved her head away from his hand and stared at her hands that were folded in her lap. "He said I had changed and not in the best way. He said it was in the best interests in the young ones at the church if I left. I...I've been thinking about this for the last week." After all the thought, she had come to a most definite conclusion.

"And what were your final thoughts, hmm?" he asked nonchalantly.

"It's your fault I've become the person I am." She stood from her chair and turned to face him fully. "You've turned me into a faithless and terrible creature. I hope you burn in hell with the man who murdered all those people back home. I don't even know who you are, let alone why you've been trying to "help" me all this time." She dug her nails into her palms to avoid losing her temper. There was just so much she wanted to scream about.

A faint smile emerged on his face. He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "My beloved, I couldn't possibly burn in hell with that man. I _am_ him."

Her breath caught painfully in her throat as he continued speaking, his voice sending chills throughout her body.

"I wanted to watch you through your turmoil and your pain." He lifted his fingers and caressed the delicate skin of her throat. "I wasn't going to tell you, but the damage is already done, my love."

She could form no words. Why could she not see this blatantly clear fact before? She had been living under the watchful eyes of her enemy since she was a young girl. He lied to her, gaining her trust and adoration. She felt like she was suffocating underneath this new truth.

"I-I...hate you," she choked out, pushing him away weakly. She wanted to cry but found that no tears would come. She wanted to scream at him, but her voice wouldn't work.

"I no longer have to hide myself from you as I did all this time. Unfortunately, this outcome isn't what I expected or wanted." Though he enjoyed her hurt, this was not what he wanted. He did not want a broken toy but he couldn't bring himself to give her up just yet.

She walked numbly away from him, trying to put as much distance as she could between them. "I wish you were here Cyril," she said murmured to herself. For the life of her, she could not figure out why she felt so empty. So blank. The priestess had no idea how to react to her own strange reaction.

"Cyril...I don't know that you're prepared to see your brother. He's...different."

Her gaze snapped back to the wizard. "What do _you_ know of him?"

Casimir shrugged and brushed pale blond hair from his eyes. "I suppose you could call him my colleague. Do you remember the incident in Alberta recently? With the merchant guild deaths?"

"No. You can't mean that Cyril had anything to do with that!"

He laughed darkly. "It's one of the few things I'll say he's executed very well. Your brother and I are simply paving the way for Loki."

"I won't ever believe you. I'm through trusting you, you monster," she snarled and disappeared out the door. She couldn't stand the sight of him anymore.

Casimir simply smiled and took a seat at the desk. Opening the book Heather had been reading, he suddenly stopped and frowned at what he saw. Surely his little priestess had not written such things. The book itself was irrelevant as he flipped the pages. On the pages in bright red ink (he supposed), were the frantic scrawling of curses and ranting of a madman. Or woman.

Some pages were ripped and some were filled with tears where her pen dug in too deeply. The scrawling was in complete disorder and in every direction.

Was Heather going mad?

If so, this was something new that he wanted to experience. He wanted to see and feel her madness and suffering.

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A/N: I really need to get writing on Gotter. This probably makes very little sense to anyone xD Just a little more Cas for you :3 


	4. My Secrets

**My Secrets**

I remember when I first met my new master. I was not resolved to trust him just yet. I was angry and was not thinking clearly that day when I said I would serve him. To this day, I do not regret my decision. I do, however, realize that I am privy to the many secrets my master keeps. He has never lied to me; therefore, I will keep his secrets safe.

I did not think such things the first day. He had, after all, killed a man that was supposed to be his friend.

I followed Casimir out of the dusty tomb that had been my home for so long and into the bright, sun-scorched desert. I was immediately filled. The void I felt within myself disappeared under the once familiar sun. I lingered outside the tomb, letting the blistering hot sand burn my bare feet. I did not feel pain the same as I did in life. It was distant. I rocked back on my heels, my eyes closed and a faint smile on my lips.

I temporarily forgot my anger.

Then his tall form blocked the sun. I opened my eyes and sighed softly. His arms were crossed, not impatiently, but I was keeping him from leaving. "You'll have plenty of time to come back. For now, I need to go home."

I nodded. "My apologies."

He turned and began to walk. I noticed a faint difference in him from the time I first laid eyes on him and his friend to the current moment. He had a wild, untamed look in his pale gray eyes despite his outward coolness. Now, his eyes had dulled considerably. A normal person would have missed this minute detail entirely.

But, though I disapproved of his actions in the tomb, I followed him faithfully. As far I knew, I could not die. I was technically dead, yes, but my soul persisted in life. I could not wander aimlessly without a purpose. It was in my blood to serve and serve I would.

Soon, a vaguely familiar city came into view. He paused and turned to me. "Delilah, go back to your matyr form. You'll stand out less. Normally I wouldn't care, but today, I'm in no mood to deal with the curiosity of idiots."

I did as he requested. I looked on at the city with ardor. How I missed my home. I knew it would not be the same as I remembered, but it eased my spirit knowing it still existed.

He continued his move toward the city and I fell into step beside him. I was so absorbed in my thoughts as I observed the people bustling about the sandy streets that I hardly noticed when we stepped inside the inn. Things had not changed terribly much. I was glad. There were still merchant stands covered with sun bleached linens and children chasing beetles and lizards through the streets.

"You can reminisce later, come on," my master ordered. I followed him to his room and sat by the door once he closed it. He pulled off his cloak and boots before lying on the bed. He did not sleep. He simply lay there on his side, staring into the empty space between us.

I watched him silently, wondering what happened to scare away the beast that was inside him. I barely knew him, yet I knew that this was not like him. For days he was like this. He moved only to eat and relieve himself. His sullen expression went unchanging. I remained near him, but distant.

By the sixth day, I saw a slight change. His hands were balled tightly, trembling slightly with his furious grip. My nose picked up the scent of blood. I knew then that I had to help him out of his stupor. I changed back to my human form and walked carefully to his side, kneeling next to the bed. I took one of his hands and pried his fingers open. Bright red stained his palm where his nails had dug deeply, relentlessly. I healed his marks without question. My eyes met his and I saw change. They had regained their natural ferocity.

He spoke then, his voice raspy from his days of silence, but strong as ever. "You'll breathe not a single word to anyone about what you've seen here."

I nodded. I did not intend to speak of this to a single soul.

At the time, I did not understand what he was doing in those six days on silence, but I learned later. I realized why he wanted me to tell no one what he had been like.

Even a monster learns to grieve if his loss is great enough.

* * *

A/N: I may never finish the actual story xD However, NaNoWriMo is kicking my ass and that's not helping...


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